Mum
by HedgieX
Summary: Well, we all need something to speculate wildly about now it's all over, don't we? A series of mini chapters suggesting possible candidates for the role of Rachel's mum; I'm beginning with Gill, who it definitely wasn't. It's like our very own mystery...
1. Chapter 1: Gill

**I've decided to do a series of mini chapters suggesting who Rachel's mum could be, since it was left on such a cliff-hanger. Well, we need something to speculate about for a year ;)**

**I filled my diary entry with reasons why Gill couldn't be Rachel's mum on Tuesday night, as you do. I personally think it's ridiculous. But lots of people seem to think she could be, so I decided to start with her.**

**Gill **

Suddenly, a lot of things fell into place for Rachel Bailey.

The sense of unease whenever she approached her boss – and not just because she was an intimidating woman to be around – because something had never seemed quite right. The sense that Gill was always trying to hide something from her, something important.

_Déjà vu_, she'd always thought, and then she'd always dismissed the concern, because if she faced the truth there was rather a lot of pointless concern inside her head on a permanent basis.

She'd been around to Janet's for tea a few weeks ago – funnily enough to slag off Gill after a long, hard day in the hellhole some people called work – and Dorothy had somehow picked up the photo, and jabbed a finger down on Rachel's mother's smiling face.

"She's familiar."

"You know _everyone_, mum," Janet had smirked.

Rachel's mum had left when she was twelve. Rachel still remembered things about her – how immaculate she had always been, how much of a perfectionist. Like Gill. She'd had a crap taste in men, obviously, having three children with an abusive alcoholic. Like Gill, marrying that... that man.

Jesus Christ.

The voice; she'd sounded so muffled over the phone when they'd arranged to meet up. Rachel had thought she'd just been nervous, because she would've been nervous if she'd been meeting up with a kid she'd abandoned; she'd have been worried for her nose, in case she got a punch.

Everyone said she was like Gill. And she'd said _oh God, no, not Godzilla_, but now she could see the similarities. They were both so stroppy, sometimes, but they were both resilient. They both made mistakes, and they both learnt from them.

They loved alcohol a little bit too much for their livers' liking.

Gill had always seemed fascinated by her. Keen to give her a chance, when no-one else would. Had she known she was her daughter all along? Or had she discovered it somewhere along the line, in the files, or in something someone had said?

To think that so much had happened in front of her mother made her skin crawl. She'd seen her at her best, and at her worst. Their lives were entwined by work, connected by late nights and early mornings, and by the tears they only ever cried alone for the victims of these horrible crimes.

_I made a big mistake, once. _That was what she'd said. Oh God, she'd been hinting the entire time, hadn't she? Trying to soften the blow, when it came. Their midnight conversation in the hotel room about Nick Savage, and how Gill had reached out and squeezed her shoulder in the interview room. Little glimpses of the person she was behind the mask.

Rachel lowered the phone now, met her mother's gaze for the first time. Gill raised a hand to her face, almost as though she was forming a barrier between them – did she really think Rachel would hit her? There were still raw scars on her knuckles from the lamp-post incident. She was a violent person, really, wasn't she? Well, who could blame her?

"Rachel," Gill whispered, as though she was savouring the word.

_Gill? Mum? Gill the mum? Mum the Gill?_ She was mad. Bonkers, psychotic, deranged. She shook her head. Maybe they both were.

Gill's high heels, gleaming red. She'd picked herself up when she'd been down. Rachel had admired her. It made her feel sick to think she was her mother, but somehow it also made her feel proud.

Policing ran in the genes. Sammy wanted to be a copper, didn't he? Sammy, that dirty bastard's son – the dirty bastard that had hurt her mother. _Her mother. _Sammy was her half-brother now.

And somehow Rachel understood why her mum had walked out; she'd had to salvage the little she had left of her life. And God, it was going to take some explaining on Gill's part before Rachel would forgive her, but... but it suddenly felt so right.

"Rachel, I...I'm sorry." _Sorry for so many things._

Gill's arms were around her neck, suffocating her, warming her, soothing her. Nothing else mattered, for a moment. Her mum, sobbing into her hair, full of remorse, clinging to her as though she'd never let go.

That suited Rachel just fine.

XxXxX


	2. Chapter 2: Julie

**_I just had an emotional breakdown in a coffee shop and it's your fault._ – Well, nothing like pinning the blame on me, is there? There are worse places to have an emotional breakdown... Try a train station; I will never again read fanfiction whilst waiting for the metro ;)**

Chapter 2 – Julie

Bright red heels.

Rachel's heart pounded, her head dragging her involuntarily back to the office. Those heels on Gill's desk, the wearer leaning back casually in the chair, eyes closed in the dim light.

Gill had walked past and entered her office: _oh, hi, Slap. _Pushed the feet down, retaken her place at her desk. That was the thing about being a copper – you were nosey; you were always watching and listening, even when perhaps you shouldn't have been.

Thinking about the station made her feel dizzy. All the things that had happened in the past few days flowed over her, bounced against her. The accusations against her, and then her being cleared, and Dom running for his freedom.

Nick Savage – he was gone, he could never cast his shadow over her life again. So why did she feel like sobbing whenever she thought of him lying dead? She'd loved that man so much, once.

"Here's your red wine, love."

"Thank you," she took it, gulped some down.

The woman in the bright red heels watched her. She seemed nervous, cautious, eager. She seemed to want to soak up everything she was seeing, as though she'd been starved of the sight of a young woman having an unhealthy relationship with alcohol.

She was the one who'd accused her. _Tell me about Rachel Bailey_, she'd demanded of Gill. Hadn't arrested her in front of her colleagues, but as good as: dragged her out of the station by her collar, piled her into a police car.

At which point had she realised, then? Had she known all along? The way she'd watched her all of the way to the other station, drinking her in like the wine Rachel clutched, remembering everything.

"You alright, love?" a hand touched her arm.

She objected to being called _love. _It was patronising, she'd told Janet, when her colleague had laughed at her. But really it was because her mum had called her _love_, when she'd tucked her up in bed: that last night, before she was gone forever. Kissed her. _Goodnight, love. Sweet dreams._

She shrugged off the touch. Realised something was trickling down her leg, and wondered if thinking about her childhood had somehow caused her to revert to childhood bad habits too.

It wasn't piss, but red wine. The glass had shattered in her grasp, shards of glass spraying everywhere. Blood on her hand. Wine on her jeans. Shit._ Shit._

"Rachel," the red-heel woman was beside her now, reaching out for her arm tentatively, helping her to sit down.

A softer voice than she used at work. She wore make-up tonight, highlighting her eyes, and her heels co-ordinated with her jacket; Rachel realised she'd made an effort. Her eyes were still searching, but they looked confused now, and frightened.

"Shit."

"It's okay."

"No, it's not," Rachel murmured, shaking her head. She met the woman's gaze and looked away instantly. "I'm fine."

"You're shaking, Rachel."

"Not enough wine yet."

"Have you eaten anything all day?"

"Yeah. I had..." she paused, glanced around. People were staring. Someone was moving towards her with a first aid kit, another was mopping the floor. "I had an _Aero_ yoghurt. You can ask Gill."

Gill had protected her, throughout the week. Julie coming down hard, asking so many questions, confusing her. Rachel realised Julie was quite restrained compared to how Rachel herself sometimes was with suspects. Bloody hell. So much for a justice system.

But Gill and Julie had even argued about it; she'd heard them, when she was being nosey again. _It wasn't her_, Gill had said. Julie smiled weakly, reached out, touched Gill's arm. _You don't know her. You don't know what she's capable of, really. You just wish you did._ Gill, yanking her arm away. _It wasn't her._

"Don't," Rachel moaned as someone tried to touch her injured hand. They nodded, dropped the first-aid kit.

"It's okay, Rachel," Julie picked up a dressing and wrapped it around the cut with gentle fingers, "That's quite deep. We should take you to the hospital and get it stitched."

She sounded so calm, as though she'd done this a million times. Perhaps she had, but not with her daughter. _Mum. _She felt dizzy again, dizzy and nauseous.

"Can we just... can we stay here, for a few minutes?"

"Yes, of course."

She nodded, whispered, "I'm sorry."

"Oh, you don't need to be sorry, Rachel," Julie smiled, and her eyes glittered with something other than the mascara, a tear winding its way down her cheek, "I think I'm the one that needs to be sorry."

"Can we... go to the toilets?"

"Yeah."

Julie took her arm, supported her. They both blanked the glares they were given, because they were used to glares, really, in their line of work. God, how similar were they?

The toilets were cool. She felt better after she'd been sick, and Julie helped her wash her hand under the water. Held it under when Rachel tried to pull it out, stroked her hair as she whimpered.

"It should be alright. Looks worse than it really is," Julie took a tissue from her handbag, dabbed the skin, applied a new bandage she'd miraculously pulled from her pocket. Magician, or clever? Rachel knew the answer. "Feel better now?"

She did, but not because the blood had been washed away. The toilets, where they always had their discussions, their heart-to-hearts. Everyone needed familiarity in life. She nodded, managed a weak smile.

"How's Alison? Dom?"

"Good. Yeah." _Hates me, _and_ somewhere on the other side of the country by now._

"How have you been?"

"Well, you know..."

"Yeah," Julie nodded slowly, "I know. I know."

"Can we just go back to my house? I've got a bottle of wine somewhere. And... and some Galaxy chocolate? The X-Factor's on at eight thirty."

"Yeah. Good idea."

They looked at each other for a moment in the mirror stretching across the wall. Both crying, their tears symmetrical. Julie's hands were shaking as much as Rachel's, if not more.

"Mum," Rachel murmured.

Julie smiled, "Rach."

XxXxX


	3. Chapter 3: Alison

**You might need to use your imagination to make this one work. I think it was _Hannah Tennant_ who suggested Alison, so thank you! I know the ages are a bit out, but then this is fanfiction, isn't it? Imagine away :3**

**Also, might be a while before I can update because I've got loads of exams etc, but if anyone has any ideas for the next chapters please PM me or write them in a review – I could do with some suggestions! xx**

**Alison**

"Jesus Christ," Rachel said.

Her sister nodded. No, God, her mother. This was her mother. Her mother had just nodded, her _mother._

She closed her eyes for a second, but the darkness only intensified her confusion, her anger, her pain. She opened them again and met the gaze of this woman.

"Rachel," Alison stood up.

Rachel didn't have the strength to push her away, so they embraced awkwardly, as they'd always done, Alison kissing her cheek, Rachel leaning away. It had always been like she was her mother, really, hadn't it?

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah." She took her glass of red wine from the bartender, handed over a note, waved her hand to show she didn't want any change. Downed the drink in a couple of gulps, pushed it back across the bar. "Better for that."

"You shouldn't drink like this..."

Rachel was about to snap a retort; _you're not my mother_. She smiled at the irony of this situation. Why was it always,_ always_ the people you trusted the most who turned out to be the enemies?

"Rachel, sit down."

"Yeah."

Alison pulled out a chair for her, then sat down on the opposite side of the table. There was about a metre of wood separating them, but suddenly it felt like the world was between them, everything pushing them apart.

They'd been so close, once. All through her childhood, when their mother had... but their mother hadn't left. She'd been Alison. God, none of this made sense.

"I don't get it," she whispered.

"I know."

Rachel gave her a glare. _Well, explain it to me, then._

Alison just repeated herself, "I know."

"Does Dom know?"

She shook her head.

"Are you... God, Al... why? What were you... I don't understand."

"I was just trying to protect you, Rachel. That was all I ever tried to do – to protect you," Alison's voice crackled.

Rachel felt a flicker of empathy for her, "Tell me everything."

"No, I..."

"I need to know."

"Yeah. Yeah, I know you do."

"_Show me the way to Amarillo_," someone sang loudly across the pub, terribly off-pitch, brandishing a bar stool above their head.

"That way, love," the bartender called dryly, indicating the door.

A drastic change of song followed, as the man wobbled across the room, his breath thrown into Rachel's face when he passed. The door slammed behind him, leaving only a whisper of the words to the _Queen_ song. "_Ooh, when love must die_."

"Ali," Rachel prompted, wrinkling her nose.

"Yeah," she said. Took a deep breath. Closed her eyes too, like Rachel had done (because they did share DNA, after all) then opened them and began to speak. "Dad... he was an alcoholic. Mum – my mum – loved him, but she really hated the drinking, and the violence. She couldn't escape, she was like those feeble scraps of women you deal with in domestic abuse cases. They're just sucked in by little signs that the man loves them, the flowers and the chocolates, and then they're thrown around. Treated like shit."

The words were tumbling out of her mouth. It was as though they'd built up inside of her, over however many years, so many secrets tearing her apart. And she'd needed to tell someone, and now finally she was. There were tears glowing in her eyes.

Rachel reached across and touched her hand, "It's okay."

"He did things... he did things to me, too. Things that... I got pregnant, with you. Mum didn't know about Dad, I never told her. I couldn't – she was just so weak, I thought she would break. She thought it was the boy from down the street who'd slept with me. I... I didn't tell her I'd never slept with anyone, except... except Dad."

"Christ," Rachel whispered.

"Then Dom. It was just repeating, all over again. I got no qualifications; my life was falling apart. Dad just carried on like nothing mattered – he treated Mum like shit, and he treated me like I wasn't even there. He just looked straight past me. He never held you, or Dom – he didn't give a damn."

"I thought... I thought..."

"Yeah. I know."

They both sat silently for a moment. Alison was shivering, although it was warm in the pub. Rachel's emotions were normally complicated; she couldn't express them like some people could, she found it hard. Now, she just wanted to cry, and to hold Alison and Dom close and never let them go.

"She found out, one day. The day before she left. Do you remember? She was different that night. She sat with you, read you a bedtime story well beyond your bedtime. She smuggled you some hot chocolate. She stood up to Dad when he found out – she said he had no right to tell her what to do. He hit her, but she wasn't scared any more. She knew what she was going to do."

"She just left you?"

"She had to. She was pregnant. She had to think about her own baby – you and Dom aren't her kids, remember? We still met up in secret for a couple of years, and we'd send letters and photos. She always tried to be there for me. Dad never really noticed the difference; he just got more and more pissed, and one day he attacked a man in a pub and was gone forever. So I brought you up on my own."

"Why didn't she come back?"

Alison shook her head, "I've got a sister, out there. Daisy, her name is."

"What's she to me? Like..." Rachel gasped, trying to take in the enormity of the situation, her hands physically shaking in front of her now. She couldn't finish any of her sentences. Everything trailed off into more confusion. "My God, you had kids with your dad? That's like... that's... Jesus, I'm..."

"I know. It's okay."

"But..."

"I met up with Mum, the other week. And she's doing well, I think. She wants to meet you, when you're ready. I just thought it was time I told you everything, Rach, and maybe we'll tell Dom too, if you think we should. I'm sick of secrets – they've ruined everything. But you need to understand, Rach. I did everything for you; all I've ever done is for you. You see that, don't you?"

"Yeah."

Alison nodded. Rachel stood up, helped her sister – mother – to slip on her coat, wrapped her arm around her. They left the pub silently, both crying.

Outside, they hugged, and it wasn't awkward. Alison was mumbling about being sorry, and promising things would be okay. Rachel nodded, smoothed down her mother's – yes, her mother's – hair, tried to smile reassuringly.

"It's going to be okay, Ali."

"Yeah. Yeah, 'course it is."

"I love you," Rachel whispered, "Mum."

"I love you, too. I love you so much."

The bar-stool drunk stepped out of the shadows, "_You're beautiful. You're beautiful, it's true._"

Alison laughed through her tears, "Thanks, mate."

"_Never forget where you're coming from..._"

"Oh, we won't."

XxXxX

**Don't own any of the songs ;)**

**Please review and tell me what you thought, and of course give me any ideas you might have... xxx**


	4. Chapter 4: Dorothy

**Thanks for the suggestions. I'll do Scary Mary for the next chapter, and Janet for chapter six. Any other ideas?**

**Sorry about any details that don't fit again; it's quite difficult to write the characters into scenarios that we know can't be true. However, it's fanfiction, so imagination is imperative.**

**Is it just me, or is there a theme here? How does Rachel _always_ end up with a glass of wine in her hand? ;')**

**Chapter Four: Dorothy**

"Does... does Janet know?"

Those were the first words that slipped from Rachel's lips when she saw her best friend's mum sitting at that table, glass in hand, phone in other hand, watching her intently.

Dorothy shook her head, "No. No, she doesn't."

"She... she was... how can you..."

"I know, Rachel."

Rachel sat down opposite her, dropped her phone down onto the table, snatched up her glass. In truth, she'd always overlooked Dorothy. Just thought of her as Janet's mum. Maybe, because Janet had a mum and she didn't – or so she'd thought – she'd been subconsciously jealous.

They'd always made small talk about the weather, if they'd met at Janet's, or Dorothy had asked how work was, and how Dom was doing. There had never been anything of any substance between them. Except maybe there had, and Rachel just hadn't noticed.

"Are you okay, love?"

She nodded. _Love_.

Dorothy had known things about Rachel that nobody knew, except those closest to her. Rachel had never really paid any attention before, assuming that Janet had spoken about her, but now it all made sense. Janet would never have shared personal information unless it was necessary.

Deep down, Rachel was a private person, a troubled person. She told people all those trivial little details about her life, all the stuff about a drunken night out, but she kept everything that meant anything to herself. She didn't have a lot of friends, really. She never seemed to express it, but Janet meant a lot to her.

Her best friend was her sister?

"Is she... I mean, is she my..."

"Half sister," Dorothy gave a weak smile, "I was only young when I had Janet. It was a mistake. It didn't work out with the father – she never knew him; I barely did, really."

"So how..."

She was silenced with a look. "It was difficult, being a single parent. She was a troublesome baby; I bet that doesn't surprise you, really. When Janet was a child, I had an affair with your father, and... and you were born. Some people never learn from their mistakes, I suppose. Your father had a girlfriend at the time – it was pretty serious between them – so I thought... well, he looked after you most of the time. I saw you when I could."

Dorothy, an innocent old woman, who was devoted to Janet and looked after her granddaughters constantly. How could your perception of a person change so dramatically in one moment?

"Alison isn't my child. Neither is Dom. The woman you knew as your mother... well, she was Alison's mum, and she left when you were twelve. I did think about taking you in – I knew you were lost without a woman in your life, and I knew your father was..."

"He was an alcoholic. He abused us."

"Yes, I know. But I had Janet to think about too, and I couldn't just rescue you and leave Dom and Alison to suffer. I didn't have the money to help you all – I sent what I could. I thought about it for years, Rachel. I agonised over what I'd done; I haven't ever forgiven myself. You have to believe me."

Rachel just nodded. She wasn't sure she really did believe this; she wasn't sure she'd believe anyone ever again.

Why was the world suddenly crumbling around her? She'd built up so much from the ruins of her childhood; she'd made a career, made friends, made amends with her siblings.

Only they weren't her siblings; they were her half-siblings now. How devastated was Alison going to be by all of this? She'd begged Rachel not to meet their mum. But Dorothy wasn't even related to Alison – the family was even more fractured than they'd thought.

"I tried to see you whenever I could, more recently," Dorothy continued, as though she was still trying to justify her actions. She wasn't really convincing herself or Rachel. "I told Janet to invite you round for tea. I can see the similarities between you, you know?"

"We're both coppers?"

"You're both brave, and loyal. You both like to have your own way – you both admire your boss, even if you pretend not to."

"Everyone admires Gill."

"I, personally, think she's rude and reckless."

Rachel almost had to smile at this. She remembered the party for Rachel's birthday at the pub, how keen Dorothy had been to see Gill, how admiring she'd been of her press conference on TV. The real Gill had shattered the illusion, but that was how Gill was. It was true – Rachel adored her boss.

"I... I don't know what else to say, Rachel."

"There's nothing else to say. When are you going to tell Janet?"

"I wasn't going to tell Janet. I don't want her to know – that's why I've been so careful all this time."

Rachel shook her head, "So we're just going to meet in secret? What am I going to tell her? She's my best friend. She's my _sister_. I tell her everything – I'm not going to lie about this."

"She's my daughter. I need to protect her."

"So am I."

"But..."

Dorothy trailed off as Rachel slammed her empty glass down on the table. "Oh my God, I can't believe we're even having this conversation. You said you wanted to air all of the secrets, because you were sick of living like this – you said that."

"I wanted you to know the truth."

"But you want me to keep this truth to myself?"

"Rachel, just calm down and let m..."

Rachel spun around to see why Dorothy had frozen in mid sentence. Janet stood by the bar, watching them silently, her eyes wide with shock, her cheeks pale.

"Oh," she said softly.

"Janet, we were..." Dorothy began.

Janet looked directly at Rachel, "She's your mum?"

"Yeah."

"Oh."

"It was a one-night thing, Janet. You were a troublesome baby – I've just been telling Rachel. Without a father around, it got very difficult; I had to escape for a while. But it was a mistake; I've always regretted it, I..."

"I'm sorry, Jan," Rachel said.

Janet smiled weakly. Rachel stood up, and they hugged. Janet rocking Rachel a little, feeling her shake as she sobbed into the older woman's shoulder. It was a shock for both of them. They were sisters.

Dorothy stood up too, "Janet, we..."

"She wasn't going to tell me, was she?"

"She... no. But she was trying to protect you; she..."

Janet shook her head, "Do you fancy coming back to mine tonight? Aid's outside in the car – we were going to go out for a meal, and _she_ was going to look after the kids, but why don't we just go back home and watch a movie, have some pizza, yeah?"

"Are you sure? You're not... you're not angry with me?"

"Why would I be angry with _you_?"

"Won't the girls be upset?"

"Oh God, of course not. They find out their personal Lady Gaga superhero is actually their auntie? They're going to be ecstatic."

Rachel pulled away, smiled weakly, "Thanks."

"I'll call you," Janet told her mother.

"Janet, please, I..."

"Come on then, Sherlock," she linked arms with Rachel, led her out of the pub. Dorothy sat watching them, hurt and confusion in her eyes. In the dim light outside, Janet met Rachel's gaze again. "Sis."

XxXxX


	5. Chapter 5: Scary Mary

"**You, Sally and Amelia should all co-write an episode, representing the fandom, the writers and actors respectively!" – Favourite. Tweet. EVER.**

**I genuinely struggled to write Mary without the prefix 'Scary' throughout this chapter. And then I saw it written 'scary Mary' without a capital S the other day, and just thought _no, that's not right, 'Scary' is actually part of her name_. I'm sad ;)**

**Chapter 5: Scary Mary**

When Rachel first saw the woman across the bar, waving two very full glasses of ruby red liquid whilst holding the phone between her shoulder and cheek, her heart sank. It took her a moment to realise why she suddenly felt so worried about the meeting.

_Scary Mary. Oh my __**actual **__God._

They'd only met a couple of times. Crime scenes – what was she, a pathologist? Gill slagged her off quite routinely in the office, but then Gill slagged off everyone in the office.

Why _Scary_ Mary? Rachel wracked her brains, wondering why she was scary. Actually, she looked quite scary; her hair was frizzy, as if she hadn't washed it in weeks. Her teeth were yellowy, and the way the wine wobbled in her hands suggested she'd already had a few glasses.

What was her surname? This woman was her mother, and she didn't even know her surname? Rachel had always thought she'd done reasonably well with her looks, overall; now she realised that those genes must have come from her father, but she pushed away those thoughts._ That's spiteful. She's your __**mum**__._

"Hello," Scary Mary said.

Rachel took her glass of wine, and downed it in one, "Hi."

Sometimes, when things got difficult, she asked herself a question. Well, she asked herself a few questions really, but one in particular: what would Gill do? This could be abbreviated to WWGD, and although Kevin had previously asked if the G stood for God when she'd doodled it on her notebook, she was rather proud of the saying. Rachel admired her boss, looked up to her. Trying to act as Gill would calmed her down.

So what the hell _would_ Gill do? Probably run out of the pub screaming. Go and get pissed at home instead, or perhaps go to Julie's to do it. Rachel could suddenly remember she'd arranged to meet Janet tonight, and make her apologies, but that seemed cruel. And Janet was out with Adrian tonight; Dorothy was looking after the kids. She couldn't intrude on that, whatever the hopeless circumstances.

"Um, do you want another drink?"

Rachel nodded.

Mary took a step towards the bar and held out a scruffy-looking five pound note, "Two red wines, please. Large ones."

"You'd be lucky, love. Six quid fifty."

Rachel automatically took her purse from her bag and paid instead, a crisp twenty pound note which gave the impression it hadn't seen much of the light of day prior to this outing. Mary looked on silently.

"Thanks," she said, taking her glass.

"S'okay."

"Do you want to sit down?"

_ No, I want to stand up all night, with all the punters staring at me. Well, not staring at me: staring at my chest. _"Yeah. That would be good."

They shuffled into a booth at the end of the pub. The light above them was flickering a little bit, highlighting the grease mark across Mary's cheek, and giving Rachel a general sensation that she was inside a sci-fi film. Or perhaps the genre was more suited to horror.

"_Jackson_."

"What?" Mary asked, looking confused.

"Oh, I just..." She could hardly say _oh, sorry Mum, I was just remembering your name_, could she? "Just realised something about a case at work. It's been annoying me all day."

"Is it something you want to talk about? Is someone at work troubling you or something?"

"No, no. It's fine. Don't worry about it."

Scary Mary – no, just plain Mary, not _scary_; stop saying _scary_ – nodded, still seeming bemused, "How's Gill doing nowadays?"

_Well, she was talking about you last week. And you're making it sound like you're long lost friends._" She's okay."

"She always scared me a bit, did Gill. Always seemed very hostile towards me, as though I'd done something wrong."

Rachel spluttered up a mouthful of wine, and had to pretend she was having a coughing fit to cover up her tears of laughter. She was scared? Scary Mary was scared of Scary Gill? Oh God.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah. It's, um, hayfever," she wiped her eyes on her napkin, "No, Gill's like that with everyone. She can be a bit grumpy sometimes, but she's a great person to have on your side. Really funny, really intelligent, you know?"

Mary looked like she didn't know.

"So... Mum..."

"I'm really sorry, Rach, for everything. I loved you so much, honestly, but things... things didn't turn out the way I expected, and... I had to leave you, for your sake, and for our family."

"You went off to live with a different guy."

"It wasn't like that."

Rachel ran her fingers around the inside of her glass, watching a man across the other side of the bar. He was tipsy, stumbling around, eyeing up a young blonde girl in a short skirt sitting nearby. He must only have been young too, really; perhaps twenty-something. What it was to be carefree...

"You do understand, don't you? Rach?"

"Dad was an alcoholic, Mum. You left us in the care of an alcoholic – you didn't even tell us, you just walked out. Do you know what that was like?"

"It was a long time ago. I was naïve," she sighed, "Yes, I know everyone says that, and I know you don't want excuses, but it's true; I didn't think what I was doing through, I didn't consider the consequences for you and your siblings. Hey, you've not turned out badly though, have you?"

Rachel gulped down frustration, forced herself to speak calmly, because when she was in control she was so much more powerful. Gill had taught her that. "He used to hit Alison."

"I'm sorry."

"Yes. So am I."

Rachel was hit with a sudden longing for a mother like Dorothy. Yes, she annoyed Janet regularly, but she was always willing to help out with the girls, and she'd been there for everyone when her daughter had been stabbed. They had a genuinely strong bond, despite their differences.

"Oh," Mary said, fiddling around in her handbag for her phone as the ringtone of _Bad Romance_ by Lady Gaga blasted out around the pub. Rachel smothered another smile: Elise would've loved that. "Oh, sorry, Rachel – I've got to go back to work. I told them I was busy, but... well, it's important. I... sorry."

"It's fine."

"Okay," Mary finished her wine in a couple of steady gulps, patted Rachel on the arm and slid from the chair, "We'll meet again another day, shall we? I'll ring you, or maybe I'll see you at work?"

"Yeah. Bye."

Rachel was overcome with relief as she was left alone. Mary had been right about one thing this evening; her daughter hadn't turned out badly. No, she'd done pretty bloody well for herself, considering. She'd pulled herself up from hopelessness, and you wouldn't be dragged back down just because her mother had decided to swan back into her life.

She didn't need a biological mother really, did she? She had Alison and Dom. _Friends were the family you chose for yourself_, and all that. Rachel had Janet to rely on and socialise with and spill her heart out to when things got difficult – God, she could even go to Kevin if she got desperate.

As for having that mother figure; who could argue that Gill wasn't like a mother to them all? She'd buy them cakes for special occasions, and lecture or praise them depending on what they deserved. If they needed it, she'd give them a hug – she was a role model, someone to admire, someone whose footsteps Rachel could follow in. And she was fun too. What more could they want?

Rachel waved her hand to order another glass of wine – "Extra large, please, mate," – and took out her own phone. Created a new text message, to send to Janet:

_Guess who my mother is. Here's a clue – she thinks Gill's scary, and the feeling's reciprocated ;) Safe to say it wasn't great, she's left already, and she didn't even pay for the wine xxx_

She didn't have to wait long for a reply:

_Omfg, Scary Mary? You poor thing. Get your arse round here right now. Gill's here, she says she'll put the wine on SM's expenses list. We've got a big bottle of whisky, and we want all the crack. You don't need a mum when you've got us kidda xxx_

Rachel grinned. Janet was so sweet. Perhaps they could have jelly again, with some whisky drizzled on top this time. And then they could watch _Traffic Cops_, and listen to Gill screaming at the TV about how they were all doing it wrong. And then they could all go to sleep. That would be nice.

XxXxX


	6. Chapter 6: Janet

**Dedicated to _ScottAndBailey4Eva_, because of the suggestions: I was running out of ideas, but Sian Cooke and Hannah Conway are good ideas, thank you. I'll work on those for future chapters, and I'd be very grateful for other ideas from anyone.**

**Chapter 7 – Janet**

**Major poetic licence needed here.**

"Shit," Rachel said.

"Rachel..."

"Shit. _Shit._"

Janet reached out to grab Rachel as her best friend's legs crumbled beneath her, like gingerbread. She stumbled forwards and narrowly avoided slamming her forehead against the bar.

They stood together for a moment, shocked silence consuming them, Janet's hands locked around Rachel's waist. Rachel regained some composure and pushed Janet away from her.

"Rachel, please."

"Please? Are you serious?" she was so shocked she could barely get her words out; she sounded dazed, "How dare you stand there and beg me? What right do you have?"

"Just sit down, calm down."

"I'm... I'm getting out... I need to..." she exhaled, her eyes filling with tears, and slumped down against the bar, "Jesus."

Everyone was staring at them. Lesbian fallout, they were thinking, Rachel supposed. The leggy blonde's found someone prettier than the bedraggled brunette, and now there's hell to pay. They'd be screaming _fight, fight, fight_ in a minute.

"I wanted to meet here so we could just talk calmly, Rachel."

"No, you wanted to meet here so I wouldn't punch the living daylights out of you. Anyone got a fork?" she glanced around the pub, frenzied, "Knife? Tweezers? Stapler? I'm not fussy: anything to cause as much pain as possible?"

"You don't mean that."

"I've never meant anything more in my life."

"I don't want to fall out with you – you're my best friend."

"YOU'RE MY _MOTHER_."

The bar man got to her side just in time. She threw up into the bucket he held out, continuing to retch even when her stomach was empty, her sobs combined with the lumps of half-digested chocolate trickling down her chin.

She always ate a lot of chocolate when she was nervous. Everyone knew that; on the day of her sergeant's exam, before she'd been forced to miss it because of her brother's accident, Kevin had bought her a bar of Cadbury's caramel. She'd given him a chunk by way of a thank you.

They all said they hated Kevin, but they didn't. He was always there, always dependable. There was Dom – setting fire to her kitchen, shagging a guy in her flat, wrecking her car. There was Nick; what could she say about Nick? And then there was her mother. Through all of this, Kevin had been there for her, there for everyone – she'd thought Janet was too, but...

Everyone in Rachel's life had let her down. And she hated that; she hated feeling as though there was no-one in the world who gave a damn if she was dead or alive.

"Rachel..."

"You alright now?" the barman asked.

A couple of tipsy blokes leaning against the bar were jeering; lesbian lovers who were actually mother and daughter? How very classy. "You've got sick on your boobs, love."

"Fuck off," Janet said.

"Oh, you've got room to speak, you slimy hypocrite," Rachel snapped, "Telling me all this shit, letting me swallow lies, year after year. I dragged myself up from the mess you left me in, dragged Dom up too. And you're here, just when I've finally escaped what you did to me? Jesus, what you put Alison through. What you did to Dad?"

"I'm so sorry."

"_You're_ sorry? God, I'm sorry too, believe me. I'm sorry you ever got pissed enough to shag him, not once but three times. Actually, come to think of it, they were probably different guys, weren't they? Well, I'm sorry I was ever born."

Janet shook her head, sobbing silently.

"Sorry you didn't have the common sense to get an abortion, when you were so obviously going to ruin my life as well as yours by having a child you didn't even have the guts to love."

"Right, okay, you're upsetting the punters now," the barman took her by the arm, ignored her struggling, led her out into the street, "I think you need to sober up, yeah? Get a taxi home, sort it out in the morning."

"How can this ever be sorted out?"

"Well... I'll ring the police?"

Janet slipped a hand into her handbag, flashed her warrant card at the barman. A chorus of squeals shot up around the bar again, 'ooh, she's a stripper too', but the barman shrugged and slammed the door in her face, leaving them alone in the cold.

"Do you want to come back to mine, Rach?"

"Come back to yours? I'm not just some bloke you've picked up in the pub; I can't just be shagged, then chucked out the door in the morning. Only that's what you did to me, isn't it? Well, not the shagging part, but..."

"Come on, we'll talk in the morning when everything's calmed down a bit. Elise will make you a coffee tonight – it'll be fine."

"Oh, Christ," Rachel mumbled, as though rocks were falling on her head, harder and harder every moment, more things penetrating the safety she thought she had with Janet. She was just as bad as the rest. "Taisie, Elise. They're... they're my..."

"Sisters. Half-sisters, yeah."

"They're... how much do they know? How much does Ade know? What about Alison, Dom?"

"Nobody knows anything. It's okay."

"It's not bloody okay. It's... shit."

Rachel sat down amidst the beer barrels. The flowers on her desk, with the blank card attached to them. Janet laughing, teasing her, asking if they were from a guy – Christ, she'd sent them. What kind of betrayal was this? Why was absolutely everything crumbling beneath her?

She managed to find her phone somewhere in her pocket. Janet watched cautiously, but didn't speak, didn't reach out to touch her – maybe she was afraid of how hard Rachel's punch would be.

_Alison... a couple of Cs, Cath and Caroline... Dom..._ Rachel's contact list on her phone was minimalist, and she liked it like that. Only the people she could trust. Or so she'd thought. _Frank, Gary... finally, Gill._

Shit. Gill had known Janet '18, 19 years'. That was long enough to know everything, wasn't it? They were all in on it – make Rachel Bailey's life as depressing as possible. _Depressing_ didn't really cover it, actually.

Suicidal? She wasn't sure she'd care if she jumped off a building right now, and it wasn't like anyone else would care either.

"Gill never knew," Janet whispered.

"I could... I could get you sacked for this. You're... you've manipulated me, ruined my life. You've made it... Christ, I've trusted you. _I trusted you_."

XxXxX

**I couldn't possibly fit this into one chapter, so despite the rules... _Janet _is to be continued ;')**


	7. Chapter 7: Janet part 2

'**Janet' continued... hankies at the ready? Or possibly guns, because you may want to kill me after this. ENJOY ;')**

"I know. I know. I'm sorry. But you don't understand, Rachel, and I'm not sure you ever really will, even if I explain all night. It was too complicated. I was just a child myself."

"Oh, let's all feel sorry for Janet. Poor, poor whore."

Janet slumped down too, all the colour suddenly drained from her cheeks. And despite herself, Rachel felt sick because Janet looked so upset.

She was her best friend. And she was her mother. How could she ever comprehend that? The two most important people in a human being's life, both the same person, both bitches.

"He called me that."

"What?"

"He called me the whore. When... look, I've never told you about my family, about my childhood, have I?"

"I think I've got a pretty clear picture now."

"No, just let me speak," she pleaded, "Look, I was just a kid. My dad was an alcoholic – like yours, like my... Mum was dead, I never had anyone to look out for me. I had to make my dad's meals, I had to clean the kitchen and do the dishes and hang out the washing on the line. I had to pour his beer down the drain, and he'd hit me for that. Or just throw up all over me."

Rachel nodded.

"And I had to find a way to pay for things. To pay for food, to pay for my school uniform. I... I tried to get a job, washing things in a hotel. I tried. But there was a guy... you know, the usual story. His house was so warm and dry, and I had proper food there, and all I had to do was close my eyes and block out the pain – in the morning, I had my money."

"How old were you?"

"Eight, nine."

"Christ."

They sat there in silence, and Rachel became aware that Janet was crying again, harder this time, still not making a sound as the tears flooded down her cheeks, though. Maybe she'd learnt over time that pain had to be quiet, private. Nobody else cared.

"After a while, it wasn't just him. It was lots of them. I sort of... I was never a bad girl, not really. I loved school – I loved English, spent my time reading. It was like escaping, because home was shit, and the nights were shit too. So long and lonely, even though the room was full of them. I was alone."

"Didn't your dad care?"

"Do you remember _your _dad?"

She shrugged.

"No. He didn't care about anything by then, except where his next pint would come from. Hospitals, drinking the hand sanitiser, all of that. Absolutely bloody desperate."

"What happened?"

"I got pregnant, with Alison. I just... you and Dom as well. I should've just run, but I needed the money even more with a baby, and I never learnt from my mistakes, never do, really. It's just... God, _God_... I'm so sorry."

"You've kept this to yourself, all your life?"

"Yep."

"Christ."

Janet buried her head in her hands; her voice was muffled when she spoke again. "I'm sorry. I had to... I just couldn't do it any more. I'd stood on the top of the car park – I'd wanted to jump. But I was too much of a coward, I couldn't even end my life. I couldn't stay. I just thought... I thought if I cleaned my life up, if I made something of myself, got a job, got a house, got a life... I thought maybe, one day, I could come back and see you again."

"So you..."

"I loved you, Rach. I loved all of you, and it was the hardest decision of my life to walk away, and I really mean that. And I have never, ever woken up in the morning not thinking of you, and not regretting what I did. But it was the right decision. We would all be dead if I'd stayed, because I'd probably have thrown all three of you off the building before jumping myself, in the end, and... I just... I'm so, so sorry."

"It's okay."

"No, it's not okay."

"I... I..." Rachel stuttered.

She'd moaned ever since she'd met Janet about how shit her childhood had been, how much of a selfish bitch her mother had been, how she'd got here alone, not because of anyone else. That was all she'd ever talked about.

And Janet was that selfish bitch, and she'd never, ever talked about her childhood, and Rachel's was nothing in comparison, because what was a bit of a hard time with an alcoholic compared to being repeatedly raped for years?

"My dad..."

"He wasn't your dad. There was no way I would leave you... I wouldn't..." she mumbled, "He was my only friend, and I trusted him, and in the end he let me down too, he got pissed, but he still tried to look after you, and I think it was my fault he ended up like that anyway, because it's a little bit difficult to look after three kids alone when their mother's run off, really, isn't it?"

"He... he wasn't that bad. He loved us."

"Yeah. Of course he did. He was like your father whilst I was around; he looked after me, he was a good guy. He gave up his life for me really, for us, to look after you and Al and Dom. I suppose everyone has their downfall, in the end."

Janet had done everything on her own. Had three children alone, made all of her decisions alone. And she had got here; she hadn't jumped off a building, she'd become someone who talked people down from suicide. The contrast, the irony, made Rachel feel truly, deeply sick.

"I'm sorry," Janet whispered again.

"It's okay. It'll be okay."

They hugged. Rachel rocked her mum – her best friend – in her arms, and she felt her shoulders shake, her tears dribble down, dampen everything. Those men in the bar, laughing drunkenly about prostitutes – they'd been right, hadn't they? Christ.

_Gill... Graham, Jack... Kevin._

"Kev," she said when he answered, and suddenly she was sobbing too, unable to create a sentence, "Kev... we..."

"Hey, Rach, what's happened?"

"Outside... we're... please..."

"Okay, Rach, come on, calm down. What's happened? Weren't you meeting your mum tonight? Are you okay?"

"I... we're at the pub. Can you... can you please..."

"Yeah. Yeah, I'll be there in two minutes," he told her, and she heard the rattling of car keys and the slamming of a door, "It's okay. It'll be okay, yeah?"

Maybe things weren't okay at the moment, but Kevin would make them okay, wouldn't he? Kevin always made everything okay. And tomorrow, like all the rest, was another day.

XxXxX


	8. Chapter 8: Sian

Chapter 8 – Sian

**For anyone who doesn't remember, Sian Cooke is Hannah Conway's support officer in the first series; Georgios Stelikos gets off for raping her, but is run over (and Gill is incredibly excited because both of his eyeballs popped out) by Sian – Janet subsequently has to talk her down from the top of a building.**

**Thanks to_ ScottAndBailey4Eva_ for the idea, and special thanks to _Sazzy_, who seems to be my most loyal reviewer at the moment, and whose reviews never fail to make me smile ;')**

Something like that, you never forgot it. Seeing a woman sitting on the top of a building gazing down at the cars flying past, ready to throw herself down beneath them and end everything. Crying about how cruel the world was to innocent girls, ruined forever. Sometimes, Rachel still saw Sian's when she closed her eyes, saw the fear, the pain.

And so it was odd, when she saw her standing there in the pub, her hands shaking as she held out a glass of wine for her daughter. Her _daughter._ If Janet, God forbid, hadn't been able to talk Sian down from the rooftop, Rachel would have attended the funeral and laid flowers on the coffin, wouldn't she? She wouldn't have known it was her mother, though.

For some reason, Rachel wasn't surprised to see Sian there. Something inside had splintered when she'd walked in, but she wasn't surprised; perhaps she was past that stage now.

When you hadn't seen someone for a long time, you started to invent those little details; you forgot which side their hair parted, whether their nails were long or short. You didn't even notice, at first, but after a while it began to eat away at you. You thought you saw the person everywhere; when you were queuing up in Greggs to buy a pasty, when you were at the beach.

Somehow, when she'd first seen Sian, she'd recognised her, and now it was all beginning to fit into place.

"Hi," Sian said.

"Hi. How you doing?"

"Mm. You?"

"Not bad."

Rachel took her drink, and they crossed the bar and sat down at a little table in the corner, one that had been left empty because the chairs were a little bit rickety, and the light above was flickering. People were like that; they judged things for what they looked like, rather than what they really were. And it wasn't fair, it really wasn't.

"I'm sorry."

"Yeah, I know. It's fine," Rachel said. She hadn't expected to say that, she'd expected to stand screaming at the woman who'd abandoned her family when they'd needed her, but things changed.

"No, it's not. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," Sian was tapping her bitten fingernails against the table, obviously nervous, "You... how's Dom, how's Alison? It's so long since... God, I'm sorry."

"They're good."

"You... I guess you need to know..."

"Yeah," she nodded slowly, "Yeah, I'd like to know everything. But in your own time; it's okay."

It was sort of like interviewing, really. Rachel realised that she was treating Sian like a witness rather than a criminal, though – she didn't blame her any more, for leaving them. She wasn't naïve any more; she understood that sometimes things couldn't be helped.

Standing outside yourself, looking in. It was cold.

"I was fourteen, when he first raped me. I didn't have anyone at home who cared; I didn't have anyone anywhere, really. I should've had an abortion, I know, but... but I couldn't. So I had Alison, and then it happened again, and again, and I had you and Dom, and..."

"We all have the same dad?"

"Yeah," she mumbled, "Same guy."

"What was his name?"

"Steve. At least that's what he told me. He... well, he was going to do it again, he... he looked after me, he made me feel like someone cared, and then suddenly he'd throw me down and it'd happen again. I knew I couldn't carry on like that; it would've been... I used to sit on top of the house and think about throwing myself off."

"So you left?"

Sian nodded. A tear dribbled down her cheek. "How's Janet? I still owe her so much... Getting me off, you know, I'll always owe her my life. I couldn't have gone to prison, I would've... How is she?"

"She's good, yeah. I'll tell her you were asking after her. She might come with me, when I next meet you – I'm sure she'd love to see you again, if she's not tied up with work or something."

"You... you want us to meet again?"

"Yeah. If you'd like to. We've got lots to catch up on."

The woman's eyes lit up, as though someone had just given her a gift she'd always wanted. Love; friendship; trust. "I knew I'd see you again, someday. I knew it would be okay. I'm sorry."

Rachel had finished her wine. Took after her father with her liking for alcohol, apparently, but at least she wasn't a rapist, hey? She didn't blame Sian, she blamed that man. Steve. She wondered if he was dead now. She didn't feel at all sorry considering it.

"How's Hannah now? You are allowed to see her, aren't you?"

"Yeah," she nodded, "I can't work any more, but yeah, I see her. She's doing well. I've got to go to all these classes now as well, to talk about how I feel and everything. Part of the conditions."

"I don't blame you, you know. Obviously what you did was wrong, and you shouldn't be proud of it," Rachel gave the waitress a grateful smile as she filled up the wine glasses, "But I don't blame you. Like Janet said, you did something that a lot of people would've liked to do."

"Should we order some food?" Sian asked, pretending tears weren't streaming down her face, "You always liked lasagne when you were little. And garlic bread, with lots of cheese on."

"It's alright," Rachel took a tissue from her handbag and pressed it into Sian's hand. Always prepared. "It's okay."

"Dom would pull the cheese off, though. And Alison was always in the kitchen helping me, even then. I'm so sorry."

"Look, I think Alison was seeing Dom tonight – maybe I could ring them, and they could come and meet us here?"

"Alison always said she'd never speak to me again, didn't she?"

"Yeah," Rachel agreed softly, "But you know, I can be very persuasive when I want to be. It's worth a try, isn't it? Things will be okay, Mum."

"Yeah. Yeah," Sian wiped her eyes, and then she smiled and reached across, and clung onto Rachel's hand, "Go on, then. See what happens, I guess. Tell them we'll have lasagne, if they want."

"That'll definitely convince them."

XxXxX


	9. Chapter 9: Nadia

Chapter Nine – Nadia

**Seem to be getting more and more outlandish with these chapters now, and having to explain the characters more – just look up Nadia Hicks, it would take me a while to go through that story, but basically she's the 'wall with a perm', who tries to strangle Rachel, and then has the lovely chat with Janet in the courtyard.**

**This is for Sophie (_GigglingGirl)_, who wanted me to promise I would never write a Nadia chapter... sorry ;')**

"Oh, bloody hell," Kevin said.

Rachel glanced across the pub, and felt two things. Firstly, confusion: how the hell had that woman got out of a prison sentence, and why the hell was she here? Secondly: relief that Kevin was here.

"This is going to be interesting."

"No, Rach," he took her arm, his voice panicky, "You can't go and talk to her. She tried to strangle you. Look, we should just walk out of here, pretend we got lost or something; we should..."

Rachel grinned, "You scared, DC Lumb?"

"No, of course not."

"Well, she's my mum. Maybe she didn't know I was her daughter when she strangled me or something? Anyway, I didn't die, and I won't die today because you're here."

Kevin didn't look consoled.

"Aw, look, Kev," she reached out and brushed his arm, trying to convey so many words that she wasn't going to say, "There's even a fire extinguisher on the wall, in case you need it. We'll be fine."

He nodded, and followed her slowly across the floor. The barman was firing dirty glances at Nadia; his eyes widened when he saw Rachel sit down with her. Still distracting his customers, but in a different way.

"Hello, Nadia," Rachel said.

"Hello, Rachel."

This was going to be a bit like an interview, she could tell already. God, how had she become so clever when, not being mean or anything, her mother was so thick? Who was her father? Someone from a squat? Someone _very clever_ from a squat?

"Who's 'e?" she jerked a thumb at Kevin, who'd pulled up a chair, dumped his jacket on it, squeezed Rachel's shoulder and disappeared to buy some drinks. "Know 'im from somewhere."

"He's a colleague. Kevin."

"Ah," Nadia nodded, "Boyfriend."

"Yes, actually. Kevin's my boyfriend."

"Alright. Scruffy, but alright."

Rachel's eyes kept being drawn to Nadia's chest, to the tattoos, 'sweet' and 'sour'. Ha.

"So how'd you get off, then?"

"Mm," Nadia said, "Just did."

"Here we go, ladies," Kevin handed them both a large glass of red wine, and dumped a pint down on the table in front of him.

Nadia wrinkled her nose, then reached across and took Kevin's pint instead, taking a huge sip.

"Hey," Kevin moaned.

Rachel took his hand under the table, "So who's my dad, Nadia?"

"Dunno."

"Well, are there a few options?"

Her eyes widened, "Mm. A few."

Rachel rolled her eyes. Her mother was a prostitute, after all. How awkward; how much was she going to be laughed at for this at work? Janet was going to find it hilarious, when she rang her tonight. Gill – she'd probably have her chucked off MIT for it. Shit.

"You not gonna apologise for trying to kill her, then?" Kevin asked, wrinkling his nose at his wine, "She's still got marks round her neck. Show her what she did, Rachel?"

"You're 'er boyfriend?" Nadia's beady eyes fixed themselves on Kevin, "I've never really 'ad a boyfriend. They come an' go, you know?"

"Not really."

"I never really got the 'ole morning thing, after the sex. Lying in bed, like, all 'appy and that, 'aving toast and stuff."

"Yeah, we don't do that either," Kevin mumbled.

At least Rachel knew now where she got her stroppiness from, and her viciousness. At the same time, she knew that Nadia had never had parents to look after her; she'd only had her brother, and Rachel knew how that felt. But Aaron was dead, and Dom was alive.

"Sorry about Aaron," Rachel said.

"Yeah, sorry 'bout your neck."

"And for getting pregnant with her, and for leaving her with some alcoholic when it all got too much?" Kevin continued.

"Yeah. Sorry."

Rachel smiled weakly, "It's alright."

"Fancy gettin' me another pint, love?" Nadia asked Kevin.

"Love? a) it's Kevin, K-E-V-I-N; b) that was _my _pint, you just stole it, and c) it's your turn to get the round in."

"Kev," Rachel sighed. She reached into her handbag, took her purse and handed Nadia a fiver. "Blow yourself away, Mum."

"Ta, kid."

"Bloody hell, Rach," Kevin mumbled as she waddled away to the bar, clutching the fiver in her fingers as though it were an one-hundred pound note, "_Bloody hell_."

"Beginning to think we should've run away."

"We still could, if you..."

"No, Kev," Rachel laid her head against his shoulder, "It's alright. Come on, she's my mum – it's only an hour, then we're free, and we can go home, and we can even do all that _morning stuff_. Just think, lying in bed, the sun streaming in, toast and coffee."

"Um, can we have tea instead? I always think tea's better in the morning; lots of sugar chucked in, nice and milky."

She grinned. God, why was she grinning? Her life was crumbling around her; her mother was a prostitute, her brother was on the run for murdering her ex, her boss was retiring – yes, Gill, retiring; it hadn't sunk in yet – and finally another ex (God, she sounded like a prostitute too) still hated her for dumping him at the altar and going off into the sunset (the rain) with his best man. Oops.

"We've all got flaws, haven't we?"

"Ooh, philosophical from Bailey, there," Kevin grinned, but he wrapped his arm around her and held her, and she didn't need to explain because she knew he understood. That was the thing about Kevin. They all teased him rotten, but he was always there, always cared.

Nadia dumped herself back in her chair and pushed two coins across the table towards Rachel: a ten pence, and a two pence.

"Where's the rest of it?"

She pointed to the beer, "Expensive, innit?"

"Yeah, very expensive given that I paid two quid fifty for the last pint of beer I bought, about ten minutes ago," Kevin said.

"Prices have gone up."

Rachel and Kevin said nothing, so she just shrugged and began to gulp down the new pint as well.

Rachel could see where her love of alcohol came from too. So many questions had been answered today; it was really rather funny.

XxXxX


	10. Chapter 10: Lilian

Chapter 10 – Lilian

**No idea what Nick's mother is called, or if she ever had a name, so for some reason I decided to call her Lilian. As you do.**

**This chapter ended up being slightly emotional;')**

"Oh, shit," Rachel said when she saw Lilian.

_Shit_ was an understatement. Of all the people she knew who could've turned out to be her mother, not Lilian. Please, not Lilian.

She dumped her wine glass back down on the bar and dug her nails hard into the palm of her hand, hoping she might wake up from the nightmare, but it just hurt. She really needed to file her nails, actually; they were sharp.

"Shit," she said again, reaching out and wrapping her fingers around the wine glass again. Scarlet liquid splashed down her hand. It was like blood; like her heart was bleeding and dripping everywhere.

"What's up?" the barman asked.

"Nothin'. Doesn't matter."

Lilian seemed to hear Rachel's voice. She raised her head, flicking her fringe out of her eyes; her hands were shaking too. She watched Rachel silently as the police officer approached the table.

"Hello," Lilian said.

Rachel sat down opposite her and sat looking at Lilian for a long, long moment. It seemed as though she couldn't hear the slightly tipsy men across the room cheering and cursing as they played on the slot machines; suddenly, nobody else was there.

Lilian was pretty. Rachel had never really known her age – she looked perhaps fifty, although she must have been older. Her greying hair was streaked with silver, her eyes a beautiful piercing blue. Her lips were turned up in a smile, although she looked as though she wanted to cry too.

"Hi," she said eventually.

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah," Rachel mumbled, wiping her wine-splattered hand on her jeans, suddenly feeling like a little kid again, "Just a bit..."

"Shocked?"

"Yeah. A bit."

Lilian gave a weak chuckle.

Rachel watched the first snowflakes fall outside the window in the town square. There was a handful of children chasing around; she couldn't hear them, but their lips were moving in silent squeals. They looked happy. She wondered if any of them were about to lose their parents too.

"I haven't seen you for quite a while," Lilian continued quietly, "Not since Nick's funeral, I don't think."

"No. I'm sorry about- about Nick. Really sorry."

"It's not your fault."

"No, but Dom..."

"He was trying to protect you," her voice was warm. Rachel wondered how Lilian could actually sit there and look her son's killer's sister in the eye, let alone smile as she spoke about it.

_Christ. _Nick had been their brother.

Which meant that Dom had killed someone who shared his blood, shared his DNA. Which meant that Rachel had been going to marry her brother.

She suddenly wanted to be sick.

"I know, Rachel," Lilian shook her head, her eyes glimmering with tears, "I know it's a lot to take in. And I'm so, so sorry for all of this. I'm sorry for what happened when you were a child; what I did to you and Alison and Dom. I'm sorry I left you for all these years, and I'm sorry most about what happened with Nick. How he hurt you."

"Did he..." her voice was croaky, "Did he know?"

"No. I didn't even realise, at first. I thought you were a lovely girl, when I met you. I found myself hoping that my daughters had turned out like you – warm and funny, and not afraid to stand up for themselves. It was odd when I realised you _were_ my daughter."

"I suppose it would've been."

"I found out he was cheating; he'd told me you and he were just colleagues, and that you'd become close because you were helping him out with some cases," she sighed, truly regretful, "I told him it was wrong. I told him he couldn't mess you about like that, not when you'd been so lovely. So he dumped you and went back to his wife and children."

"It was... it was you..."

"Yeah. I'm sorry. I thought it would be best for you in the long run; I thought you'd get over him. Obviously, Nick being Nick, he couldn't leave it. He had to keep coming back, he was fascinated by playing you, all those other women; it was a game, a power game. He was so insecure, deep down."

"I loved him," Rachel said. She felt tears welling up in her eyes; she'd told Janet she was over Nick so many times, but in truth she never would be. He'd always haunt her. She'd hated him, but she'd always loved him too.

"I know you did. I'm so sorry he hurt you."

"I'm sorry too. For... for Dom."

"No. He was protecting you, like I said," she reached out a hand – fingers shaky – and touched Rachel's, "He was doing what I should always have done. Been there for you; looked out for the bad guys. He was only being a good brother. He did a bad, bad thing, but he was trying to help. He loves you so much, Rachel. You know that, don't you?"

"Yeah, I know."

"I... I want to ask you something."

Rachel nodded, signalling she could continue.

"I just... okay, you can say no if you want to, Rachel. I'll understand. I know... God, I know it's never going to be easy for us, ever. But I hope we'll be able to be friends, one day. Maybe I can repay you a tiny bit for all of the pain I've caused. Maybe I can explain everything, one day."

"What's the question?" she asked softly.

"I... do you visit Dom, in the prison, sometimes?"

"Yeah. Me and Ali try to go every couple of weeks. He didn't want to go back there; he was so scared. They really hurt him. But he has to pay for what he did to Nick, and he will pay. He_ will_ turn his life around. One day."

"Would you mind if... if I came with you?"

"What, to see Dom?"

"I... I want to apologise to him, and to Alison. I want to explain. And I want Dom to know that he's got my forgiveness, for what he did. There's nothing worse than never being forgiven, always having something hanging over you. There's nothing that hurts more, eats away at you."

Rachel took her hand from underneath Lilian's and laid it on top instead. Both of them were crying now, and both of the wine glasses were empty, and all of the slightly drunk men were staring, but they didn't care.

"I don't mind. I think... I think it's a good idea."

"Thank you, Rachel."

"Mum?" she whispered, and Lilian looked up, her eyes filled with hope behind the tears, the blue seeming never-ending, like a mother's love underneath all of the problems, "I forgive you, too."

XxXxX


End file.
